I replied but stood in the dark and heard the door to the warehouse unbolted; I heard their steps within, echoing away. Outside, on the platform beside the river, somebody approached but did not stop. The warehouse went quiet and there was nobody by the river, so I stepped out. Here I was, where I had gone in, and I tried to think how I’d changed from ten minutes before. I’d talked to Jerry; or hadn’t I? It was strange that never once, when he was before me and I was speaking to him, I doubted he was Jerry; yet I’d sworn to him, on that night they arrested him, that I’d believe Keeban existed also; I’d believe Keeban robbed Dorothy Crewe and threw her into the street. Consequently, I ought to believe that the man with Christina might be Keeban. But I didn’t; I didn’t believe in Keeban at all just now; and yet a few minutes ago, I did. I went home and said nothing to my people; I said nothing about this to any one at all. I stayed by myself that evening and, about eleven o’clock, I walked down by the edge of the lake beyond that strip of park which turns in front of the homes on the Drive and near which we live. “Steve!” a voice whispered to me; and I jumped about. Jerry had come up beside me at the edge of the lake. This time he was alone. He was not in deckhand’s garb and Mackinaw coat; he wore a plain, dark jacket and felt hat. I could not plainly see his face; the light from the lamps on the Drive gave me only glints on his cheekbone and nose and chin and in his eyes turned to mine, but enough to make me know Jerry. Then I remembered I’d known the man in the warehouse basement for Jerry when he was speaking to me. “Hello,” I said. “Steve, he called on you to-day!” “Who?” “Keeban!” I stopped and thought a minute; and I was shaking. “Oh,” I asked him, “where was that?” “You know,” he came back. “I don’t; but didn’t he see you?” “Yes,” I said; and went right on. “What was over our old beds when we slept together in the north room?” “You didn’t ask him that?” this fellow said. “No; but I’m asking you.” “Oh, a picture of the _Constitution_ fighting the _Guerrière_, Steve, you old fool!” “Anything peculiar about it?” “I’d cracked the glass across the lower right corner, shooting my air rifle in the room, disobeying mother. She never would have it mended.” “What was opposite?” “The charge up San Juan hill. Anything else?” “No; that’s enough. You’re--Jerry. How do you know about that other meeting?” “I don’t; that’s why I’m asking you. But I’ve been waiting for it and I got the hunch he’d reached you to-day.” “Keeban?” “He goes by the name of Vine just now; Harry Vine. There was somebody with him?” “A girl,” I admitted. “Light haired?” “As light,” I said slowly and deliberately, “as Dorothy Crewe’s.” He had to draw breath deep after that. “Steve, how _is_ Dot?” “Don’t you see the papers?” “Of course.” “Well, they’ve told the truth about her condition.”